the first sin
by faraways
Summary: Loving you is like trying to touch a star, I know I can never reach you, but I can't help but try. -—Five drabbles, five forbidden & unapproved pairings
1. long enough

**author; **brazensers  
**characters; **Ron and Draco.  
**pairings; **Ron/Draco.  
**wordcount; **400  
**disclaimer; **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of the author of the work from which this is derived.

**notes; **The title of this five-drabble collection references to a story within the Bible, where Eve picks forbidden fruit—thought by some to be a representation of passion and sexuality—from a tree in the garden of Eden. This was supposedly the first sin ever committed.  
Written for The Forbidden Relationships Competition Section A on HPFC.

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**the first sin  
**001. long enough

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**001.**

"Well, you took long enough, didn't you?"

Ron Weasley glares angrily at Draco Malfoy from behind his ancient, dusty history book, flipping another page without actually reading. He had been doing so four hours on end, waiting for the blond man to strut through his mahogany-carved door.

Draco gives him an apologetic look. "Work got off late."

"So then you come as quick as you can, you blasted idiot! You don't drive home slower than my Aunt Muriel," Ron snaps, ears reddening with anger—a trait inherited from his father. "We planned this weeks ahead of time, and you act like it's less important than a speck of dirt in a mud puddle."

"Oh, stop being such a prat, Weasley," Draco shoots back, a sour look forming on his pale, ghostly face. The small living room is quiet for a few moments. Then, "Should I leave, or do you actually want to get on with this? I know that fucking all alone is often too pleasurable to turn down."

The ginger scoffs before adding sheepishly, "I suppose."

Draco nods assertively, beginning to unbutton his clean, white shirt. "Then I will meet you in your bedroom in a few minutes, and we can continue our business as usual." He lays the clothing piece on the arm of the nearby ratted sofa.

"Wait!" Ron calls after the fair-haired man, expression uncertain, and blue eyes wide with fear. "What if Hermione finds out? Or even worse, _Astoria_ finds out?" A shudder runs down his spine just at the thought: Astoria, livid, and holding a long knife in her well-manicured hand. She had always been extremely territorial with Draco. What would she think if a Weasley—no, a Weasley_ man_—was messing with him?

"I can assure you Astoria will never find out, Ronald," comes the exasperated reply, before light, echoing footsteps signal Draco's leave of absence to the bedroom.

Ron Weasley sighs before stripping down to his knickers, a job which Draco had always preferred to take care of. _I'm sorry Hermione_.

_You take much too long, my darling._


	2. fun

**author; **brazensers  
**characters; **Michael Corner and Justin Finch-Fletchley.  
**pairings; **Michael/Justin.  
**wordcount; **200  
**disclaimer; **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of the author of the work from which this is derived.

**notes; **Written for The Forbidden Relationships Competition Section B on HPFC.

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**the first sin  
**002. fun

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**002.**

A little fun cannot hurt, can it?

Not when your whole world is about to end—to crash down on you in a pile of death and pity and horror. There's always something to look forward to at the end of it all, and fun is the source of all happiness, is it not?

Michael Corner and Justin Finch-Fletchley seem to think so.

They tear at each other behind the thick Hogwarts tapestries along the Ravenclaw corridor, moaning and giggling and whispering fake words of love. Hands get tangled in Justin's curly hair as the passion is heated—desperation for the fun to last and the battle to never come for them. There is some little spark inside the boys that they will live, but Michael is the more realistic one, the clever one. He knows he will not survive the day—that Cho Chang, sexy, but always a dramatic, will be sobbing with grief for him, the tall, skinny boy that never loved her.

And that is what happens during war.

People lose, people find.

All Michael and Justin have is life that they will lose, and they're going to live it while they can.


	3. like father, like son

**author; **brazensers  
**characters; **Barty Crouch Sr., Doris Crockford, and Barty Crouch Jr.  
**pairings; **Barty Sr./Doris.  
**wordcount; **400  
**disclaimer; **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of the author of the work from which this is derived.

**notes; **Written for The Forbidden Relationships Competition Section C on HPFC.

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**the first sin  
**003. like father, like son

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**003.**

Bartemius Crouch Senior—the distinction was always vital—shoved a handful of large, golden coins into the grubby hand of Doris Crockford, his expression one of extreme solemnity.

"What's this s'pose to be?"

The man did not reply to the question, and turned away, sweeping his ebony cloak around him in preparation to depart for his melancholy house. He checked his watch—nine thirty—before stepping out into the dingy alleyway. He was not surprised to see that this was where Doris lived the first time he arrived to visit; she was part of the wizarding lower class, and never held a position of work any longer than a year.

"Barty, wait! Please!" Doris followed after him, her plump breasts bouncing up and down as she hobbled after him down the alley, fists clenched.

He whipped around, blue eyes scathing. "We cannot do… _this_ anymore, Doris."

She stopped in her tracks, her bottom lip quivering dramatically. Twirling her auburn hair on her finger nervously, she challenged, "Why? We're not doin' an'thing wrong."

"A fellow worker of mine at the Ministry found out about our relationship. Trust me, Doris, I would not make this decision if it were not for both your good and mine. Unlike you, I need my situation," Barty replied, his gaze trailing down to his newly-polished shoes. "So just take the funds I have provided you with and leave me be."

Doris gaped at him, her sweet green eyes shining with obvious disbelief. "But it don't matter if somebody found us out! We're in love!"

The wizard whipped away once more—for the last time—and continued down the gravelled street, shoulders slumped, regret stirring inside him like a spoon in a hot cauldron. Barty ignored the loving words thrown his way from down the alley, the grunts as Doris tripped trying to follow him on her stubby legs, the desperate screams to have him back.

He reached the end of the alleyway and turned to his left, stifling his sobs, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. _It was necessary, it was necessary, it was necessary_. Barty Crouch swallowed hard as he approached the figure that had been calmly waiting for him.

"I have completed the task you required of me," he choked out, trembling as Doris's pleading grew closer—she would reach the end of the road soon, but by then he would be gone.

"Well done, Father. We can't have this so-called _love _keep you from taking care of me, can we?"


	4. best friends forever

**author; **brazensers  
**characters; **Ginny and Hermione.  
**pairings; **Ginny/Hermione.  
**wordcount; **250  
**disclaimer; **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of the author of the work from which this is derived.

**notes; **Written for The Forbidden Relationships Competition Section D on HPFC.

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**the first sin  
**004. best friends forever

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**004.**

_Best friends forever_.

That's what Hermione Granger told her all those years ago, after months of pining for the beloved black-haired boy, rich and popular and brave. That's what Hermione Granger told her when Bill and Phlegm were wed, and they both gagged together in the back during the ceremony. That's what Hermione Granger told her on the first Christmas after the war, when they unwrapped matching golden pendants.

Ginny Weasley knows the truth, though—what they really are to each other. It was an inevitable thing, but disgusting and despised all the same. They are the two Weasley widows, united by the loss of their husbands on that one chilly night, when the Aurors were called in to control Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

(they had finally lost their minds from guilt—they'd fucking broken.)

The love came naturally after that—the gentle stroking of arms, the reassuring hand-holding, the casual grins at the sight of her soft, plush brown hair, now streaked with gray. Everything had gotten gradually easier after that: heads on shoulders and kisses on cheeks.

("how sweet, the two of them are so close." "well you'd damn think they would be after what happened.")

If she had been given the chance to change her life, Ginny would do it in a heartbeat. But it's too late: they've burrowed themselves too deep for too long. Loving Hermione Granger is simply _wrong_—they both know it is true.

But living without Hermione Granger is also wrong, and Ginny can't find the courage to admit it.


	5. dancing with myself

**author; **brazensers  
**characters; **Hagrid, Ginny, and Neville.  
**pairings; **Hagrid/Ginny.  
**wordcount; **450  
**disclaimer; **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of the author of the work from which this is derived.

**notes; **This is more of a fluffy, humorous kind of love than anything else, but I think you'll enjoy anyway. :)  
Written for The Forbidden Relationships Competition Section E, the Absurd Pairing Competition, and Competition: I'm Falling In Love... Again on HPFC.

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**the first sin  
**005. dancing with myself

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**005.**

It is eleven o'clock at night on Christmas day when Rubeus Hagrid is saddest.

He is dancing with himself, humming the sad tune his father always did when memories of his mother usurped from the abyss of discomforts and discord. The giant of a man somehow goes unnoticed by the hundreds and hundreds of students present at the Yule Ball, though this should not be surprising, since the majority are either drunk or too busy snogging passionately to see anything past the tips of their noses. Lights from enchanted, frosty evergreen trees make the tears streaming down the gamekeeper's face sparkle—a sight also devoid from each and every attendee's gaze.

Except for one's, of course.

Ginny Weasley, red-faced with anger and embarrassment as her dance partner's feet scrape painfully against her shin yet again, has been determinedly watching and waiting. Watching for him to notice her love, a fantasy every teenage girl wishes her professor crush will do. Waiting for him to ask her to dance, also a fantasy of every teenage girl. And yet, Rubeus Hagrid does not notice the ginger, making her grow more and more frustrated.

"Neville," she announces in an exasperated voice, "I'm tired."

The boy's blue eyes widen, and he stops his oddity of a jig abruptly. "Did I hurt you? Oh, I'm sorry, I'm dreadful at this."

"No, no, no, I'm fine," Ginny lies through her teeth, wanting to hit the clumsy idiot around the head. "Just go talk to Ron or something."

Neville Longbottom trudges away with his head lowered to locate the youngest Weasley boy, and Ginny praises herself for her inner cleverness before pushing through a screaming, overexcited crowd and waving at the gameskeeper with a grin. He does not respond, eyes flickering around the Great Hall nervously. Only then goes Ginny spot the large pool of water that surrounds him.

Frowning, she asks gently, "What're you crying for, Hagrid?"

A large bawl erupts from the man, who drags a dirty hankerchief across his face. Many couples within the proximity of a several meters jump back, startled. "N-Nothing to bother you're lil' m-m-mind with, girl."

"Well, then," Ginny informs him matter-of-factly, "it only makes sense that we get it off your mind, as well." The fiery-haired girl offers her hand, which pales in comparison to Hagrid's mountainous, giant-inherited one. She does not mind, though, and beams widely as he follows her dutifully onto the dance floor. _Love united at last_, she thinks with a small burst of joy.

Rubeus Hagrid and Ginny Weasley dance and laugh and sway until long past midnight.

Their love is simple—it heals.


End file.
